All Shadows Fled - Ed Greenwood [31]
"Oh, do belt up, dear," Jhessail said, grinning.
"Aye," Illistyl's sharp tones came out of the close darkness on Jhessail's other side. "And forthwith, before I spew!"
"If ye can stand the company of the two blades she's picked up, who both fancy themselves clever-Belkram and Itharr of the Harpers-Sharantyr's left room and a warm fire for ye," the gruff tones of Rathan came to them out of the night.
"Kind of her," Jhessail said, "but we're going right back out after we feed and hobble our horses. We're going to be a little surprise in the Zhentarim backside on the morrow!"
"Ye'll probably lift a few eyebrows hereabouts, too, if ye try charging on hobbled horses!" Rathan chuckled.
"We're leaving the horses here, you dolt," Jhessail told him affectionately. "Where's Term?"
"He felt restless, and wanted to go 'exploring,' as he put it," the burly priest replied. "So I gave him a little too much wine and smote him one. He'll wake before dawn, in. just the right mood for a good battle."
"I'm glad it's you who shares a tent with him," Illistyl said feelingly.
"I'll be only too happy to surrender my sleeping furs to thee, gentle maid," Rathan said eagerly, "and I'm sure Term won't object in the slightest!"
"Ah, ha!" Illistyl agreed flatly. "I doubt he'd mind, indeed." She rode on, turning to add, "111 save my furious defenses for the fray tomorrow."
"I rather think we all will, lass," the elderly voice of a dale farmer came gruffly out of the nearby darkness.
"Or we'll be dead before another night comes down on the Realms."
*****
The Standing Stone, the Dales,
Flamerule 16
"Galath's Roost is the only logical place to camp for the night-that's the problem," Swordlord Amglar said to the silent ring of officers around the map.
"What problem?" Spellmaster Thuldoum said sharply. For some hours now, he'd been trying to overcome his own fright and whispers of incompetence or disloyalty by playing the sharp-tongued aggressor. Everyone in earshot was tired of it.
"I mean, wizard," Amglar explained in wearily patient tones that brought secret smiles to the lips of a few swordcaptains, "that it's the place our foes expect us. Just as they knew we'd pass by this spot."
He waved at the road behind them and the dark and silent bulk of the Standing Stone beyond. Three hundred armsmen and six score war horses lay dead along the north road, heaped cottage-high under the stars… and already the wolves were howling, nearer each time. Amglar tried not to think of the fallen. The dead were beyond his orders; it was the living he had to worry about.
"So?" the Zhentarim said coolly. "They hardly have enough blades to hold a ruin against us, even in the dark. And my spells can make it bright as day, so our archers can keep to the night and strike down well-lit targets as they please."
"I'm thinking there'll be traps there, not defenders," Amglar said heavily. "I don't suppose you can see into the place from here, can you? Or better: let our veteran swordcaptains look at things. They'll know traps better than either of us." To say anything else might make this Spellmaster hurl spells in a fury, and after what had befallen so far, that would be all the Sword of the South needed.
The Zhentarim was shaking his head. "No, it's much too far to send an eye. I'd have to have seen the hold before with my own eyes to scry it with any of the other magics I carry."
"You've nothing that can help us?" One of the three lancecaptains said, not bothering to keep the contempt out of his voice. The spellmaster made a silent show of looking him up and down and committing his face to memory, but all of them knew any hostile move the wizard made in this gathering would result in his death. Not a few of the personal belt daggers around the map would be poisoned, too.
"You're a brave man, sir of the lance," Nentor Thuldoum said in silken tones, "if a foolhardy one. A wizard of the Network always has something that can be turned to use, and it's always